The Plaque of Many Colors
by Rhian Merenwen
Summary: Three guys and 3 girls fall into Tortall from America. Only one of them has any idea of what is happening. Two couldn't live without their makeup, and the other three are just plain confused. All of them have tasks to do. RR please Finally Updated-Ch.8
1. Holes

Disclaimer: (fanfare) Welcome all ye people to the Realm of FanFiction! (nother fanfare)  
  
"Sara! Yo! Yes, I'm talking to you! Wait for me! Sara!" a girl with hair too black to be fake jogged after Sara. As she ran, papers fell from her arms, but she didn't stop to pick them up.   
  
"Watch it!" A tall kid on the soccer team whined as she ran into him, spilling more papers, if that was possible.   
  
"Move, Rory!" She yelled in annoyance, running on.   
  
"Hey! You can't just run into me and not apologize!" Rory dashed after her, quite pissed that somebody was not respecting his-oh-so-perfect-person.   
  
Sara was kneeling on the ground, oblivious to the world around her. Her backpack was on the muddy ground beside her, soaking up the excess water. She knew that she would probably miss her bus, but she could always walk home.   
  
All of her attention was focused on the memorial plaque set into the ground beneath a small maple tree.   
  
Carl S. Grant, benefactor (1924-1984).   
  
She wasn't interested in Mr. Grant; she was watching the plaque shifting colors. When she had first seen it, the fall of seventh grade, she had thought it a trick of the light. After it she began to see it at night, when there were no lights, she became suspicious and avoided it.   
  
Today, the call had seemed particularly strong, and she had been sitting for the past ten minutes watching it.   
  
"Sara! Sara!" she jerked out of her reverie and saw Jen, spilling papers as usual.   
  
"What Jen?" She asked, mildly annoyed. "Oh crap!" She hissed, as Jen was knocked over by Rory, who for all his soccer skills, could not stop. "Oof!" she groaned, feeling squished.   
  
Adam smiled and acted stupid. He wanted the people and teachers to think that he was stupid. He didn't want to have to work.   
  
"Omigod! Adam, look at that!" Rebekah pulled on his sleeve, giggling like a lunatic. He looked where she pointed, and saw the star of the soccer team, a total nobody and an arm, all in a pile. Then the arm moved, and he saw it was connected to a person- and that person was the prettiest girl that he had ever seen.   
  
"Who is that?" he asked Rebekah softly.   
  
"I don't know," she whined, pouting. She flicked some of her stiff blonde hair over her shoulder; or, she tried to. It was so stiff that it stayed exactly where it had been for the past three years: up in a ponytail. "She's just some smart chick who doesn't talk.   
  
Adam smiled, and patted Rebekah's arm. "Bekah, don't worry, she's just a girl and you're Rebekah Brandt! Everyone still loves you." Adam dropped her hand and turned away. "I'm going to go see what Rory's got himself into this time."   
  
Rory groaned and rolled off of Jen, who then rolled off of Sara. "Why'd you stop?" he mumbled.   
  
"Because I couldn't just run Sara over, could I?" Jen retorted angrily. "Look, you got my blacks all muddy!" She held out a piece of her shredded black tee, grumbling to herself the whole time.   
  
"Are you talking to yourself?" Rory asked her.   
  
"Yes. Shut up." She snapped.   
  
"Jeez, that hurt." Sara sat up slowly, grimacing as she felt her wet brown hair cling to her back. "Ugh. Mud. Yuck." She rung out her hair, watching the brown water drip from it. "That was the most disgusting thing to happen to me this year. Nasty mud."   
  
"It's only the start of the year, silly Sara." Jen said comfortingly. "You have 179 days left to have more bad tings happen to you!" She smiled cheerfully.   
  
"What's he doing," Sara asked, pointing to Rory.   
  
"I don't know, and I do not want to know." Jen raised her eyebrows skeptically.  
  
Rory was sitting in the mud, gently brushing little specks of non-existent dirt off of his pristine white Abercrombie and Fitch shirt.   
  
"Rory! What happened, dude?" Adam drawled, walking up to the group. His head was turned toward Rory, but his eyes were on Sara.   
  
Next to her, Jen sucked in her breath extremely quickly. Sara knew why too, it was because of Adam. Adam Carrie was undoubtedly the hottest guy in Jen's opinion. He wore black make up, sharpie black, to be exact. Sara just didn't understand her friend's obsession.   
  
"Do you need help getting up?" Adam extended a hand toward Sara.   
  
"No, I'm fine," She responded coolly, adeptly hiding her dislike. Easily, she stood up, possessing the grace that years of gymnastics had given her.   
  
"Oh." Adam looked taken aback, as if he had never been turned down before. To tell the truth, he hadn't.   
  
"Adam," Rebekah stalked over, jealous every time the spotlight was not on her. "Why are you talking to her?" Her perfectly manicured hands landed on carefully shaped hips.   
  
"Because I felt like it." Adam shrugged and helped Rory to stand up.   
  
"Thanks man."   
  
"No problem, dude."   
  
"ADAM!" Rebekah screeched, attracting the gazes of the teachers who were left to supervise the last remaining students on campus.   
  
"What?" He rolled his eyes in Rory's direction.   
  
Sara snorted softly, and Jen (who was still on the ground) giggled openly.   
  
"Jen, let's go." Sara turned and tripped over the mound of dirt surrounding the tree. "I so wish that that hadn't happened." She muttered fervently. Her foot landed on the plaque embedded in the dirt. She grabbed onto Jen's sleeve for balance, just as they were both sucked into the gaping hole that had opened in the earth. Sara screamed loud and clear, and right in Jen's ear.   
  
Jen screamed because Sara was screaming.   
  
Rory and Adam climbed to the edge of the hole to see where they went, muttering "Cool!" to one another.   
  
Rebekah screamed, "ADAM!" Then a huge force, one that could rival gravity, pulled them all into the hole.   
  
The security guard who was left to supervise could have sworn that the hole burped when it closed up. Then he convinced himself he was seeing things, and left for his own business/affair with the Vice Principal.   
  
A/N: This is a slightly odd piece of work that has come out of the twisted depths of my mind. It is my first fic that I had the nerve to post.   
  
In case you want to know, all the characters that are not TP's don't necessarily belong to me. Jen would have a fit if I said that I owned her. She would probably throw something very solid at my head. I own the character based on me (Sara), and I make fun of the rest.   
  
There is a plaque in front of a tree at my school, but so far I haven't stepped on it. Yet. The dude's name is Carl Hoppe, but I thought that was a silly kind of name, plus I couldn't remember it at the time that I was writing so...he really did die in 1984...  
  
Please review this! I'm begging you!  
  
Spirielle 


	2. The Divine Ones

Disclaimer: (fanfare) Welcome all ye people to the Realm of FanFiction! (nother fanfare)  
  
A/N: I don't own Jen, either. As I said last chapter, she would hurt me. Really. Anyway, by now i bet you just want to get on to the part that involves the TP characters, right? So here you go:   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Chapter 2: The Divine Ones  
  
Sara was deathly afraid of the dark. Her grip on Jen's arm became so tight that Jen's arm fell asleep. "Let up," she whined.   
  
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Sara screamed into her ear in response.   
  
"Oh, that hurt." Suddenly, they were no longer falling, but lying on something entirely too soft to be real. They heard other plops as the others landed on the soft thing.  
  
"Where are we?" Rebekah asked in a whiny voice. "Adam?"  
  
"Yo!" Adam's voice came from the figure next to Jen. "Rory?"   
  
"What up?" Rory was lying next to Rebekah, and he wanted to move.   
  
"Oof," said Sara as her backpack landed on her stomach.   
  
"Welcome," a soft voice filled the air around them. "You have come to our domain. We welcome you." A harsh light flared around them, and they rushed to cover they're eyes.   
  
"Who are you?" Rebekah asked stupidly.   
  
"I am the Goddess." The Voice said.  
  
"I am Mithros." A huge man stepped out of the circle of people.   
  
"I am the Graveyard Hag." A crone hobbled forward.   
  
-And I am Gainel. - The soft voice filled their heads.   
  
"The Black God joins you," An eerie presence fell over all of them like the first winter snow on the grass.   
  
"I am Weiryn, the god of the hunt," a man with only antlers and a loincloth on stepped out to complete the newly formed circle.   
  
"We have chosen you to play our game. You will all have a task to do," the Voice said. "We shall assign each of you a quest to complete within a year. Your paths may cross at times, but do not be too hopeful. We shall start with the-" the Voice was interrupted by the Hag.   
  
"We will start with the whiny one." She pointed at a quivering Rebekah. "I've been watching you girly, so I have just the task for you!" The Hag cackled.   
  
The Voice spoke so only Rebekah and the others Immortals could hear, "You will have to go to Carthak and live like a slave in Carthak." Rebekah blanched. "You will be the personal slave to Emperor Orzone. Your task will be to seduce and then assassinate him." Rebekah blanched, and whimpered. "Go," commanded the Voice, and she was gone.   
  
"I choose this one," the Black God said pointing to Adam. "He is a child of my soul." Adam grinned.   
  
"Yo dude, what's my task?" He asked with a wide grin on his face.   
  
"You shall go into the Tortallan society and steal something of great value to them. You must also find out what it is. Have no fear," said the Voice, chuckling, "You will know what it is when you touch it." The Voice sobered. "Now go." Adam was gone.   
  
-My friend, - The Gainel walked forward. His hand rested gently on Jen's shoulder. -You must become a priestess for me. Now go. - Jen was gone.   
  
Sara clung tightly to her backpack. She was alone, except for Rory, but he really didn't count. "I know who you are," she stuttered out. "You're from the books I read…the, the ones by Tamora Pierce."   
  
"Ah yes," Said the Goddess, "She is the Ultimate Goddess, the one that we all answer to."   
  
"What are you talking about, smart girl? I mean," Rory said, "I know you're smart in German and all that, but you read stuff like this?"   
  
"It's quite good, actually," Sara replied mildly. "You should try reading it sometime."   
  
"No thank you," Rory said with a sneer.  
  
"Stupid." Sara turned her back on Rory. "What?" She asked, emboldened by her new discovery.  
  
All of the Divine Ones were looking at them with expressions of extreme amusement on their faces. "You two, you two are interesting and seem to be well suited for one another. Mayhap your paths may cross." The Hag giggled perversely. "What are their tasks?" The Hag giggled again and stroked the head of a rat that was perched on her shoulder.   
  
"She shall have the task of being a delegation from her homeland." The Goddess paused and looked Sara directly in the eyes. "What is your homeland?"   
  
"Um, America." Sara clutched her backpack closely.   
  
"America? That does not sound like a country." The Goddess made a face. "You will be a delegation from Scanra. You must convince King Jonathon to sign a treaty with you." The Goddess smiled in satisfaction. "Now go." Sara squeaked as she was whisked off to wherever.   
  
"You," Mithros pointed to Rory, who was the only one left.   
  
"Yes?" Rory asked, blanching.   
  
"You shall be a spy for Tortall. You must make sure that nothing gets by you. Now go, Myles will inform you." Rory disappeared as well, leaving only the Divine Ones.   
  
"This should be fun," cackled the Hag.   
  
"Oh yes, and they should reap lots of benefits for me as well," The Black God chuckled.   
  
"Oh that's just morbidly funny," the Goddess quipped.   
  
Weiryn looked disgruntled. "I didn't get a human. I wanted one."   
  
"Really? We'll look into it," Mithros replied, carefully checking the world above.   
  
A boy was walking along the sidewalk, balancing on the edge. He was humming to himself. His jersey identified him as another soccer player. His blond hair was blowing in front of his brown eyes.   
  
"Here we go," Mithros said laughing. "Come here, little one."   
  
Dave felt himself being pulled toward the tree. "What the…?" he wondered right before he fell, hitting his head on the tree in the process. He grabbed his backpack, trying to hold onto something, trying not to fall. He only managed to pull his backpack with him.  
  
  
  
"Here, Weiryn, have a mortal." Mithros let Dave gently down onto the floor.   
  
"Wake up, mortal!" Weiryn nudged Dave with his hoof.   
  
"Augh, my head…" Dave woke up slowly, then quickly as he realized he was not in Kansas anymore, even though he had never been to Kansas in his life.   
  
"Hello little mortal. I have a task for you." Weiryn peered down at Dave.   
  
"Where am I?" He asked.   
  
"You are in the Divine Realms, where the Gods and Goddesses reside." The Goddess stepped forward.  
  
"Oh," said Dave stupidly.   
  
"I have a task for you," Weiryn repeated again.   
  
"Really? That's nice. Who are you?" Dave looked up at the God.   
  
Weiryn looked affronted. "Who don't know who I am?" He asked slowly, enunciating each word.   
  
"No."  
  
"I am Weiryn, the God of the Hunt!" Weiryn boomed with much self-importance.   
  
"Wow, I'm impressed." Dave looked reverential.   
  
"Your task will be to hunt the assassin down that is trying to kill King Orzone of Carthak. Now go." Weiryn dismissed Dave with a flick of his hand.   
  
"Now they are all gone, and everyone has a mortal to toy with, right?" The Goddess asked with a smile.   
  
"Of course," cackled the Hag. "Now let the games begin!" She clapped her hands together. "Everyone, start their mortal, on your marks, get set go!"   
  
The other Divine Ones just looked at her skeptically. "Have you been delving into the above world too much again?" Mithros asked suspiciously.  
  
The Hag giggled and nodded.   
  
"Let's go give them all a little more information. Plus, we need to get them integrated a little bit into their own society," the Goddess said firmly. The other Divine Ones nodded in agreement and all of them disappeared.   
  
A/N: I originally thought that each God(dess) would have a mortal. Then I realized that I can't count and pulled in Dave. If anyone wants to see a specific charater tortured in a particularly interesting and slightly humerous manner, review (hint) and tell me!   
  
If anyone has any preferences about romance as of now...tell me. As in, you have to review...(bigger hint)  
  
And so now, I beg you to review, because it makes me feel special and it keeps me typing. (Really Big Hint that you couldn't miss if you were blind)  
  
~*~*Spirielle*~*~ 


	3. Landings

Disclaimer: (fanfare) Welcome all ye people to the Realm of FanFiction! (nother fanfare)  
  
A/N: Jen has informed me that I can own her, but not Adam, if anyone cares.   
  
Jen- I will use the list of um tortures. Somwhere  
  
AJ 4EVA- aj 4eva is right! rock on!   
  
treanz-alyce-sadly, yes, Rebekah is based on someone. Something bad will hapen to her...and it might involve makup, or lackthereof, and mud...muhahaha!!  
  
Lady Bee-I hope it will be good! -snickers evilly-  
  
SamuraiGirl-:o)  
  
Sweet-yet-spiky- well, I'm glad you like this, even if it isn't something that you normally read...!   
  
Robinwyn-there will be lots of twists, and other such compromises. Happy writing...oh yes, much happy writing...lol  
  
lady-anna-bee-you want to kill Rebekah too? Snazzy!   
  
And now what you've all be waiting for....the story.   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Chapter 2: Landings   
  
Rebekah screamed as she fell once more into blackness. "AAADDDDAAAAAAMMMMM!" Then suddenly, she was back in the light. "Oh. Adam?"   
  
"Who is this Adam you scream of?" A man dressed in a ratty brown dress asked her.   
  
"My-my boyfriend." Rebekah trembled as he walked toward her. "Do you have any lip- gloss that I could borrow?" Her reasoning was that if he wore a dress, he probably had lip-gloss too.   
  
"Lip-gloss?" The man asked her quizzically.   
  
"Yeah, you know, the shiny stuff you put on your lips? It usually tastes good too…" Rebekah trailed off into silence as the man's uni-brow rose higher. "Are gay?" she asked pointedly.   
  
"Yes, yes I am." The man smiled, happy that he could finally talk about something normal. "I am very gay right now, unlike a few minutes ago, when I didn't have a pretty maiden to keep me company."   
  
"Oh." It took Rebekah a little while to figure out that when he had said that he was gay, he had meant it in the older form of the word. Then she smiled at him, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Could you take me home?"   
  
"Well, you see," he was interrupted by a small pop, then a big bang and lots of smoke.   
  
"Oh I love these special effects!" The Hag guffawed. "You know, my Priest, you should be more respectful to my newest child. Take her directly to Orzone. He will let you in, since you are my Priest. Tell him that she is a gift from Me. Hurry along!" The Hag fed a crumb to the rat that was draped across her shoulders. "Have fun, m'dear! Remember you task!" Then, with more loud noises and smoke, the Hag was gone.   
  
"Come on, child." Rebekah sauntered out of the run down temple with him and that was the end of that.   
  
The Black God took Adam by the elbow and led him through the busy streets of Corus. The path they took was cleared immediately after a person saw them. Adam thought it was so ultra cool.   
  
"This is the Dancing Dove. You will learn the tricks of the trade here, from George, the King of the Thieves." The Black God pushed open the door to the Dancing Dove.   
  
"I prefer the word "rogue" as opposed to "thief" good sir," A man drawled. He was sitting in a chair by the fire, with his feet propped up on a table.  
  
"Dude, awesome." Adam grinned. "Preach, my brother, preach!"   
  
"Thank you, good sir," George said as he bowed to the Black God. "Come. What is your name?"   
  
"Adam. Adam Carrie." Adam tucked some of his shoulder length brown hair behind his ear.   
  
"Come, Adam of Carrie. You want to be a thief? Then follow." George disappeared in the blink of an eye, up a flight of stairs and into the darkness beyond. Adam smirked and followed.   
  
Jen woke up, which was something she rarely ever did. "Jeez, just my luck to wake up without the only thing I ever really use- a brush." She ran her hands through her hair and stretched.   
  
-Good Morning. Did you have a good night's rest? - Gainel stood before her, resplendent in his starry cloak. Jen twitched slightly, startled by Gainel's sudden appearance.   
  
"Yes." Jen looked suspiciously up at him. "I haven't slept in years! Why did I suddenly fall asleep now?"  
  
Gainel tried to look innocent. -I don't know- he said.   
  
"Sure. I don't care, anyway." Jen tossed her hair back and finally got a good look at the surrounding countryside. "Dude!" She exclaimed, using one of Adam's favorite words. "Where am I?"   
  
-You are in Tortall- Gainel patted her shoulder -This is a small barony near the city of Corus, where you will become my priestess-   
  
"Totally awesome." Jen's voice was monotone, although her face was expressing quite the emotional spectrum. "Let's go! I'm a Priestess, eh?"  
  
-Yes- Gainel walked toward a sprawling forest that stretched out on the horizon before them. -Now let's go-  
  
"Coming!" Jen scrambled to keep up.   
  
Sara had read the books. She knew that she did not want to be in Scanra. Ever. A cold, wintry wind was whipping around her, blowing her brown hair into disarray. "Jeez! It's cold!" At home, the weather had been in the transitory stage before summer and autumn, and Sara had been in shirtsleeves.   
  
Her usually tan skin was almost transparent with the cold. Purplish and bluish veins were becoming visible along her exposed skin. "I'm hate the cold," she whined to the wind.   
  
"Why do you hate the cold?"   
  
"Because," Sara said through chattering teeth, "It's not fun. It's…cold!" The Goddess took off her cloak and draped it around Sara's shoulders.   
  
"There, child," The Goddess smiled.   
  
"Thank you," Sara said, warming up almost immediately. She leaned down and began rooting through her backpack. "Aha!" She exclaimed triumphantly. Pulling out her CD player, she turned it on.   
  
"Put that thing away, child!" The Goddess scolded her.   
  
"But I want to listen to music!" Sara whined back.   
  
"Come." The Goddess grimaced at her. "It is time to integrate you into the High Scanran Society."   
  
Sara blanched. "No way," she breathed, shaking all over.   
  
Rory landed in a soft, overstuffed chair. He looked around and smiled. He would like living here.   
  
"YOU!" Mithros boomed from the doorway.   
  
Rory twitched violently as Mithros walked in. He covered his eyes in the glare that surrounded the god. "Could you turn it down a little?" He snapped. "I can't do anything if I'm blind!"   
  
Mithros snorted, and mumbled something about disrespect, insubordinations and detentions, but Rory couldn't quite hear all that. "Hello, my brave mortal." Mithros began again. "I will introduce you to your task master very shortly." The door banged open. "Here he is now."   
  
"Oh, Mithros!" The man who walked through the door bowed deeply. He looked as overstuffed as the chair that Rory was sitting on. "Hello, young lad, who are you?"   
  
"Sir Myles of Olau, I would like to introduce you to Rory." Mithros looked pointedly at Rory, who shrugged. With a loud sigh, Mithros continued. "As you can see, he is ignorant."   
  
Rory interrupted him, "I am not stupid!"   
  
"I never said you were stupid," Mithros snapped, earning a doubtful look from Rory, and an astonished one from Myles. "Now, if I may continue?" Rory shrugged insolently. "Myles, teach this brash young man to be a spy for Tortall."   
  
"I don't know, Mithros," Myles looked shocked to be talking back to a god. "He may not be trainable."  
  
"Just do it!" Mithros thundered, the glare around him growing to a unbearable level.  
  
"I can do anything!" Rory bragged.   
  
"You better be able to…" Myles mumbled softly. Then, Mithros was gone and Myles and Rory were the only two left.   
  
Dave smiled happily as he lazed through the pretty clouds. His tongue lolled out of his mouth with a sigh. Everything was so nice, so perfect here!   
  
"HUT TEN HUT!" Screamed a man's voice. Dave jerked out of his reverie with a snap. A HUGE black man in a leather armor suit stood over him glaring. "Soldier! Why are you on the ground?"   
  
"I'm not a…a soldier." Dave looked around in confusion. Was his hair dusty? Did he look stupid lying on the ground? Were there girls to impress? "Who are you?"   
  
"I am Sergeant Philanthropisticmaniac! I am your commanding officer! Show some respect!" He added in a harsh whisper.   
  
"Um, do you know where Weiryn is," Dave gulped and hastily added, "Sir?" when Sergeant gave him a look that would have had him six feet under if it could.   
  
"The Divine One is probably off on some Divine Business so that he cannot worry his Divine Self about insignificant you. Now," Philanthropisticmaniac said, "GET TO WORK!" He beat the leather whip he carried on his palm, cursing every time he hit himself. As he paced, he yelled at Dave. "You are here to become a bodyguard for the Almighty, Holy, Shining, and Otherwise Complimented Emperor! You will work from dawn to dusk every day, with no pay until you attain the status of bodyguardship. MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"   
  
Dave sighed as he stood up, resigning himself to his fate of torture. Right before he began to run away from the Sergeant (who was chasing him with the whip) he muttered, "This is almost worse than school. Almost."   
  
A/N: Well, wasn't that one insane, and rather random chapter? If any of my readers would like to be in this somewhere along the way, just tell me. It would be in a small way, like Abby, who has informed me that she is a theif on the streets. Just tell me your name and occupation, and I will try and fit you in somewhere along the line.   
  
~*~*Spirielle*~*~ 


	4. Slavery isn't Illegal Anymore!

Disclaimer: (fanfare) Welcome all ye people to the Realm of FanFiction! (nother fanfare)  
  
A/N: So sorry that this chapter has taken a long time to get up! (Writer's block + school= no time)  
  
Lady Bee- you'll get in there somewhere, probably with Abby, the other thief. :o)  
  
Jen- Rory is an asshole. Totally. I would like to kick him hard in the balls.   
  
Sarah- Not quite correct, as i told you in the email...:o)  
  
Terrorofthehighway- Why is it American? Because I'm American, and all the other characters that i brought in are too. They all go to my school, which is in America, and so, it is American. Too bad if it offends you. It's better to write what you know...(oh dear, i'm quoting my english teacher...)...kk?   
  
And now what you've all be waiting for....the story.   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Chapter 2: Slavery isn't Illegal Anymore...  
  
Rebekah glanced at herself in the mirror. She looked good, she decided. The pale white fabric was clinging to her body in all the right places to show it off. A servant had done her hair in the most entrancing style. She wondered if she could duplicate it when she got home.   
  
"Slave, come here." A commanding voice startled her out of her self-absorbed reverie.   
  
"I am no man's slave," she fairly screeched as she whipped around. The sheer nerve of this man shattered her calm.   
  
"Well," he drawled, laughing at her expression, "As you can so obviously see, I'm not really a man!" He laughed heartily at his own joke. "Pick your jaw up off the floor, girl! It's not polite to stare at your superior!" He snapped at her.   
  
"What-what the hell are you?" Rebekah snapped her jaw shut. She took in his greasy, unkempt hair, noxious smell and…wings. "You have wings." She said disbelievingly.   
  
"I'm a Stormwing," the Thing said rather proudly. "You may bow down and worship me now."   
  
"Eww, no!" Rebekah backed to the other side of the room.   
  
"I thought not." He waddled toward her, his claws clicking on the floor. "Come on, slave." He grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. "The Emperor must see his latest slave."   
  
"I deserve to be treated better than this! Do you know who I am? This is abuse! How dare you! Get your dirty claws off me, you smelly thing! Now!"   
  
The Stormwing ignored her protests and continued to drag her through the halls, slipping in and occasional, "I don't care," every so often.   
  
Suddenly, he stopped and Rebekah crashed into him. "Ow!" She complained loudly, inspecting the cuts that his feathers had given her. "They're sharp!"   
  
"Yes, they are. Now shut up." He dragged her into a large, high-ceilinged room. "My dear Emperor Orzone," The ugly creature started, "I present to you the Hag's latest gift: a personal slave for yourself."   
  
"Bring her here." Rebekah looked at the man who was sitting lazily on the throne. He had so much make up on! It was almost more than Adam's…she hoped that Adam would come and rescue her soon, but she wasn't sure if he would. Maybe Rory would?   
  
"Slave, what is your name?"   
  
"Rebekah." She flinched as the Stormwing pressed his wings into her back. "And I'm not a slave. It's illegal."   
  
The man on the throne had a good laugh with that. "Slavery? Illegal? Not in Carthak, my love." He unfolded himself and stood up. "Where do you hail from?"   
  
"…Huh?" Rebekah looked puzzled. It was hard to tell that she was in the Gifted classes at school.   
  
"Where are you from?" Hissed the Stormwing.   
  
"Oh. I'm from America," Rebekah said loftily.   
  
"Is that in Scanra?" The Emperor asked her.   
  
"Where?"   
  
He looked at her as if she was well and truly daft, which wasn't far from the truth. "You know," he said slowly, enunciating each word, "Scanra, the country that is north of Tortall and west of Galla?"   
  
Rebekah stood there, wondering what the hell he was talking about. "What are those?"   
  
"The Hag has given me a village idiot! She no longer favors me!" Orzone paced around the chambers, not looking amused.   
  
"I am in the Gifted classes at my school," Rebekah pointed out to him.   
  
"Shut up."   
  
"Whoa- you did not just, like, tell me to shut up!" Rebekah wrenched her hand out of the Stormwing's hold, marched over to the Emperor and slapped him soundly across the face.  
  
"Milord! The Emperor of the Most High Shining Suns! Are you injured?" The Stormwing rushed over.   
  
"I am fine, Mawkish." Orzone's face was marred by a red and not as shiny as the rest spot in the shape of a handprint. "She however, will have to die come morning."   
  
"No. Way." Rebekah stood there, hands over her mouth, looking aghast. "Please give me a second chance! Please!"   
  
Mawkish waddled forward, "There are no second chances," he crowed, " in the court of Emperor Orzone the Most Wondrous in all the World." He grinned evilly at her.   
  
"SHIT!" Screamed Rebekah. Then, in a fit of self-preservation and self-love, she took Orzone's head firmly in her hands mashed her mouth against his, using all the tricks that she had learned from her various trysts.   
  
At first, the Emperor of the Sparkling Stars tried to push her away. Soon, however, he was leaning into the kiss, if it could be called that, and participating quite zealously in it.  
  
"There is a second chance for her," He said to the various servants that had come running when they had heard the word, 'die' a few minutes earlier. Rebekah smiled at him, and told him through her body language the things that were to come should he keep her a live.   
  
"The Hag does favor me!" Orzone boasted triumphantly. He slung his arm possessively around her shoulders, and she snuggled into him.   
  
An Emperor is so much better than a lowly student like Adam, Rebekah thought to herself.  
  
A/N: Thanks for putting up with me...do yall like my new name? :oD I do!   
  
~*~*Rhian Merenwen*~*~ 


	5. The Hair

Disclaimer: (fanfare) Welcome all ye people to the Realm of FanFiction! (nother fanfare)  
  
Review Responses:  
  
Alcapacien-Yeah baby! Join the club!   
  
Jen- Here is a pretty chapter for you! Heehee...No not the hair!   
  
AJ4EVA-More for you! Sorry about some...um...references, but I'm not changing Tortallan history (yet). Heehee...  
  
On to the Story!   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Chapter 5: The Hair  
  
Adam grinned up at George, "Check and mate."   
  
"Damn," George said good-naturedly. Easily, he swiped the ornate chess pieces into a black velvet bag and folded up the board. He leaned back on the bed. "So you want to become a thief, eh?"   
  
"Well, yeah." Adam tossed his hair back.   
  
"What do you plan on stealing?" George Cooper raised an eyebrow.   
  
Adam smiled, and it reminded George of a wolf, "Tortall's greatest treasure," he said.   
  
"Oh really? What would this treasure be?" George was no longer sitting in a relaxed manner; he had all knives easily within reach.   
  
"Couldn't tell you that, now could I?" Adam sat up and blinked. "You might report me to My Lord Provost!" Although Adam had been at the Dancing Dove for less than two days, he had picked up the idioms quickly.  
  
"Of course not! I wouldn't do that! It would be breaking the Code." George looked him square in the eyes. "What are you planning to steal, youngling?"   
  
"Not telling," Adam said playfully in response. The truth was, he didn't know yet. He had heard people talking about some jewel, the Domination Jewel or something, and about the new Queen from Tusaine, Thayet. He had also heard rumors of some famed King's Champion, Sir Alanna. To Adam, Alanna didn't sound very masculine, but if this Knight was as good as the rumors, he didn't care. He was also mulling over the problem of which one of these things was Tortall's greatest treasure.   
  
He got a thrill whenever someone said anything at all about the Domination Jewel (or whatever it was called), Queen Thayet or Sir Alanna.   
  
"Adam, you must tell me." George said for the third time.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Adam, if you want to become a thief," George sighed, "You must pay attention at all times to your surroundings. Now what are you going to steal?"   
  
"I don't really know yet," Adam admitted sheepishly.   
  
"You…don't?" George asked incredulously.   
  
"I just got here, remember," Adam pointed out. "I didn't even know that this place existed three days ago!" Adam twirled some of his hair around a finger.   
  
"How could you not know that Tortall existed? Tortall is one of the world powers! Everyone, even people who come visiting from across the sea know what Tortall is!" George threw up his hands in disgust and stood up. "I'm leaving. Expect to resume at dusk."  
  
"Alright," Adam said coolly, twirling a knife between his fingers.   
  
"You'll hurt yourself," a voice from the shadows informed him.   
  
"No, I won't," Adam replied, not looking up. "Hey!" he complained when the stranger snatched the knife from his hands.   
  
"I told you, you would've hurt yourself." The woman who was talking glared down at him.   
  
"Who the hell are you and why are you spying on me?" Adam tensed, unsure what he would do exactly if the woman attacked.   
  
She looked miffed. Sniffing, she tossed back her reddish blonde hair and filled him in, "I am Sir Alanna, the Lioness. You must have heard of me!"   
  
"So, you're the Knight-dude." He eyed her calculatingly. "And I thought you were a guy."   
  
"Yes, I am that knight-dude, and no, I am not a man, although I did pretend to be for a couple of years…" The lady-knight trailed off into thought.   
  
"So you are a cross-dresser!" Adam cried.   
  
"I am not!" Alanna whirled on him. "You watch your mouth! George told me not to hurt you, but if I do, it's going to be all your fault!" Her purple eyes flashed angrily.   
  
"Hey, easy lady! I didn't mean to offend you so much!" Adam put up his hands in a mockery of self-defense.   
  
"You better not have meant all that offense!" Alanna growled.   
  
Adam gulped as the sword just barely brushed his throat. "Really!" He squeaked out, "I'm sorry!" The sword point moved away from his neck, and back into the sheath at Alanna's side.   
  
"You watch yourself, boy; I'll be watching you!" Alanna threatened, poking his nose to emphasize every word.   
  
"Hey!" Adam complained again, in a whiny tone. "Stop that!"   
  
Alanna grinned, looking completely satisfied with her behavior. "Stop what?" she asked, crossing her arms.   
  
"Oh, never mind." Adam sighed grumpily, thinking of all the pretty girls he had seen.   
  
They sat in silence for eons, glaring at each other.   
  
"You know," Alanna broke the silence. "George might do something about that hair of yours." She looked at him slyly. "Maybe even…cut it off."   
  
Adam gasped, and recoiled in horror, "No!" He clutched his head possessively. "Not my hair!"   
  
Alanna chuckled rather evilly. "We'll see."   
  
Adam stuck his tongue out.   
  
"Alanna, thank you for watching this young scamp," Adam jumped as George walked silently into the room.   
  
"Anytime," Alanna smiled, and walked out of the room, giving Adam a slap on the back and George a kiss on the cheek.   
  
"Now, Adam," George turned around, blushing slightly, "We are going to see King Jonathon and Queen Thayet very soon. Here," George held out a bundle, "Please wash up and put on some more appropriate clothes."   
  
"Oh…okay." Adam took the clothes dubiously, wondering what wrong with his shredded tie-dye shirt and ripped pants.   
  
A half hour later, Adam stepped out of the bathhouse in his new clothes. "I. Feel. So. Damn. Stupid." He growled. "At least it's black," he grumbled. He was wearing the most fashionable pants that George had been able to find, plus a loose black shirt that was in fairly decent condition.   
  
"So not as good as my stuff," he grouched. "Now off to see Queen Thayet."   
  
A/N: Jen must state something: "I love Adam!"   
  
Okay, anyway, if anybody does not know what one pairing is, then you must be completely stupid, drunk or just plain inanimate. Jen is a real person, after all, as are all the characters that I brought in...hehheh!!!   
  
Thanks for reviewing, all of you!!  
  
I also realize that i made a mistake. Last chapter was not chapter two. Oops. :o)  
  
Luv yall.   
  
~*~*Rhian Merenwen*~*~ 


	6. Temper Tantrums

Review Responses:  
  
Frozen Rain-Glad you like it!   
  
Jen- Finally, i got it up! I said i would, and i did...happy?   
  
Treanz-alyce- this took me a while, but i think its a bit longer chapter. I think i was just having fun with the characteres...:o)  
  
On to the Story!   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Chapter 5: The Hair  
  
Myles paced around the room, glaring at his newest recruit. "Rory, you have got to shape up!"   
  
"Whatever do you mean?" Rory asked lazily, affecting a very fake British accent.   
  
"You know what I mean," Myles was a man not easily infuriated, but Rory was proving to be something else.   
  
"Oh, you want me to apply myself," Rory said, dropping the pseudo-accent. "Just like all the teachers at school. 'Oh Rory, if only you would apply yourself, you could be great!'" Rory sent his voice into a falsetto for the imitation of his English teacher. "I must 'live up to my potential, be proficient, choose my attitude,'" Rory quoted scathingly.   
  
"Good sayings, all of them," Myles told him earnestly. "You should try them and see how they work."   
  
"Whatever,"   
  
"You know, you could very well be the shortest lived spy ever with that attitude. Hell's bells, you might never even become a spy if you continue to act like this!" Myles bellowed. "Mithros said you had to become a spy; the best spy! I am trying to make you that spy, and you are not cooperating!" Myles's pacing switched over to double time.   
  
"I don't want to be a spy." Rory stated calmly. "I have no idea where this place is and I'm supposed to be a spy on the order of some dude I just met a month ago!" Rory jumped to his feet angrily gesticulating. "You damn people always meddling in my damn life, making me do so many damn things that I damn well don't want to do, dammit!" Rory shouted in Myles's face.   
  
"Rory, no one disobeys Mithros with impunity. No one is making you do it because it's your duty to the crown and to the Gods. You-" Myles protested, but Rory interrupted him.   
  
"No! You don't understand, do you? You are making me do this! That whacked god of yours is making you do this to me! To me! To Rory Burns, the star of the soccer team!" Rory sat down suddenly. "Damn. Damn everything.   
  
"Rory-" Myles put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.   
  
"Don't touch me."   
  
"Rory, calm down!" Myles resumed his pacing. "You have to accept your fate. It is what you are destined to do, whether you like it or not!"   
  
"No, I damn well don't have to!" Rory pushed himself out of the chair and toward Myles. He used his height to try and intimidate the older man.   
  
"Rory of Burns! Shut up this minute!" Myles angrily bellowed into Rory's face.  
  
"No!" Rory yelled back, forcefully shoving Myles. The Royal Spymaster gasped as he hit the wall. "No! I won't become a spy! I wasn't meant to be a spy! I wasn't meant to go unnoticed!" Rory screamed at Myles, accentuating every word with a kick or punch to the nearest piece of furniture.   
  
"Milord! Is something wrong?" A surprised guardsman stood in the doorway, watching the two men.   
  
"Get Duke Baird," Myles wheezed, clutching his chest.   
  
"Yes Milord." The man turned and yelled down the hall, "Get Duke Baird!" Then he rushed into the room and tried to restrain Rory, who had apparently gone temporarily mad.   
  
"Get! Off! Of! Me!" Rory screeched as the guard tied his hands behind his back. "You! Can't! Do-" Rory slumped to the floor as the soldier's fist connected with the back of his head.   
  
"Damn them. Damn them all." Rory muttered as he shivered on the street. He thought back to the audience he had gotten with King Jonathon, and how Myles had defended him saying that a week on the streets would make sure that his last little episode didn't happen again.   
  
Here he was, on the streets of Corus, with nothing more than the clothes he had been wearing and a few coins. Rory didn't want to spend a week sleeping out in the streets. He wanted to be sleeping in his bed. At home.   
  
"Why me?" He asked the night sky. It was already getting chilly, and he was wondering where he would sleep.   
  
"Well, you seem to have some money, now don't you?" Rory spun around quickly and came face to face with a knife.   
  
"No," he said sullenly. "Put that away! You could hurt someone with that!"   
  
There were some dry chuckles. "Yes, I know that. It is the point of a knife after all, pun intended."   
  
"Why do you think that I have money?" Rory asked quizzically.   
  
"Well, for one thing," The knife lowered and he saw a blonde girl holding it ready still, "Your pockets clink when you walk. Secondly, your clothes don't have any holes whatsoever. Thirdly, you talk like you have money."  
  
One of the blonde's companions stepped forward. "It would be advisable," she murmured, "That you hand over your money now, so Abbitha won't have to hurt you."  
  
"But I need it!" He whined desperately.   
  
"Ah, so you do have money," The Abbitha chuckled again. "Bee, Peter, Lara, you ready?" She asked her cohorts.   
  
"Of course," they chorused together.   
  
"Leave me alone!" Rory squealed, turning and running. He was the star of the soccer team, and he could run very fast, but just not fast enough to escape his pursuers who knew Corus like the back of their collective hands.   
  
"Gotcha!" Bee cried, tackling him.   
  
"Ah!" Rory screamed as he smacked into the cobblestones. He curled into a little ball to protect himself.   
  
"Do you surrender?" Abbitha asked, lifting his chin with the knife blade.   
  
Rory looked at her, wide eyed, but didn't say anything.   
  
"What say you?" She asked impatiently.   
  
Rory didn't answer.   
  
"Answer me!" Abbitha smacked him across the face with her blade, leaving behind a bloody trail.   
  
"Damn you!" Rory cursed colorfully, but inaudibly, as his mouth was filling with blood from the cut on his cheek. He spat and clapped a hand over his cheek.   
  
"I'm sorry, that wasn't the correct answer," She said, smiling viciously. Abbitha raised the blade again. "What say you?" A drop of blood fell on Rory's clothes.   
  
"Mommy!" He squeaked, trying to crawl away.   
  
Lara raised her knife this time. "I don't believe that was the right answer either," She said, and brought her dagger down in a arc across his hand.   
  
"Shit!" screamed Rory, thoroughly in pain.   
  
"No, that also wasn't the answer we were looking for." Peter chortled. His fist came crashing down onto Rory's chest.   
  
Rory only gasped in response.   
  
"Nope, wrong answer again!" Bee informed him cheerfully. She drew her knife and slashed an X on either arm.   
  
Rory, covered in blood, gave up trying to say anything.   
  
"Do you admit defeat?" Abbitha asked him, placing one foot on his chest.   
  
He nodded quickly.   
  
She smiled and motioned for Bee to cut his purse. "We'll see you around, sir!" Abbitha gave him an ironic salute and dashed off with her group.   
  
Rory struggled to rise, and was grateful when unconsciousness took over.   
  
The next morning, he woke up in the bright sunlight that was filtered in through the windows of the Healer's Hall. Before he could rise and question everything, a tall man unfolded himself from the chair a walked over to Rory.   
  
"You have hurt yourself fairly bad, Master Rory. Don't try and talk, you're still Healing. Your lucky that the guards found you when they did, else you might not be able to talk again." The man smiled. "I'm afraid, however, that you will have some nasty scars."   
  
Rory inhaled quickly. He would have scars? Just not on my face, he prayed silently. I can't have ruined my face!   
  
"I believe the worst one will be that nasty gash running from your temple to your chin…" Rory zoned as he mulled over this bit of horrific information. His looks must be ruined for life! "…However, one of the apprentices has been overheard saying that you'll look quite dashing with that scar. Makes you seem very brave, he said…" Rory smiled inwardly at the praise, then blanched when he heard that it had been a man who had said it.   
  
"Rory, I would like to talk to you," Myles said to him.  
  
Rory looked up guiltily.   
  
Myles motioned the healer away, "You know, you could have died. Will you promise to try and cooperate, if I promise not to turn you out in the streets like that?"   
  
Rory nodded vehemently, which made him very dizzy.   
  
"Good! You start your real training as soon as you are healed enough to do so!" Myles said cheerily.   
  
Rory shook his head, and this time the dizziness made him pass out.   
  
A/N: Hoping you like this! Sorry for not updating for so long, but the wild fancies of life swept me away. The next chapter should be Jen. I think. I've had that started for who knows how long...and i promise to get it up asap! :o)   
  
Rhian Merenwen 


	7. Tortallan Task Masters

My Thanks goes to:   
  
Pickzee-Meh. I finally got it up...took me a while, but i did. I promise, absolutely promise to finish a chapter on the suvivor fic soon. (At least, i think i will...::biting fingers::)   
  
Jen- Finally, i got it up! Augh. Your chapter, at last. hahahaha.   
  
Treanz-alyce- You know...it might actually work...I'll have to think about giving him hairgel...maybe i don't want to cheer him up. Heh heh.   
  
On to the Story!   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Whatever Chapter It Is: Tortallan Task Masters  
  
Jen looked with slight distaste at the deep blue robe that she was required to wear. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered for the fifth time that minute. "It would be so much better if it were black."   
  
"You are a Priestess of Gainel. You must wear the blue that shows that you are a Priestess." The old, crotchety First Priestess looked up from embroidering a gold star on her robes.   
  
"I feel like a Jew." Jen complained. "Please tell me that you aren't Nazis."   
  
"Nazis?" The old woman asked coldly. "What is that?"   
  
"Never mind," Jen sighed and stood silently for a time. "Ow!" She yelped suddenly as the old woman poked her with a needle. "What the hell was that for?"   
  
She looked down and saw the woman slumped forward.   
  
"Hello?" She nudged the body with her toe.   
  
"No! I wasn't sleeping! I swear!" The old priestess screeched, stabbing Jen with the needle again.   
  
"Whatever." Jen snatched the needle from the old woman, "Give me that!"   
  
"A Priestess never snatches anything," intoned the old woman. "Twenty push-ups, now."  
  
"What the hell?" Jen moaned. "It's like gym class! Damn! Shit!"   
  
"Shut up! Drop and give me twenty, now!" The old Priestess smacked her hard across the face.   
  
Jen screeched in a very undignified manner. Then, she dropped and did twenty pitiful, weak push-ups that might have passed for movement.   
  
"Good," growled the priestess, "Now come with me. It is time for your first dream lesson."   
  
"What…is…that?" Jen panted.   
  
"Just what it sounds like: a dream lesson. Now hurry up!" The old woman shoved Jen forward and kicked her shins.   
  
Jen groaned but didn't say anything, opting instead to take the safer route of hiding behind her hair.   
  
After much walking, stony silence from Jen and the occasional kicks from the old hag, they made it to a large, circular room made entirely of moonstone and altogether underground.   
  
"Nazis," muttered Jen, breaking her silence.   
  
The Priestess kicked her.   
  
"I think I'm claustrophobic," Jen whined pitifully, glancing around at the high ceiling and vast cavern.   
  
"Nonsense." The Priestess pinched her arm.   
  
Jen just rolled her eyes.   
  
"Now, you sit here…" the priestess spun around as if looking for something very small, then pointed at a spot on the floor. Jen sat down, and the woman instantly scolded her, "No, more to your left! No, right!" Finally, the Priestess gave up and shoved Jen exactly where she was supposed to be, which was exactly where she had been.   
  
"Priestess Giselle. You are wanted in the laundry," a rich voice wafted out from the shadows. "Go now."   
  
Giselle grumbled and mumbled and finally stumped out of the moonstone room in the direction that she had come.   
  
"You, child," An elegant woman stepped out of the shadows, her night dark hair pooling around her feet.   
  
Jen looked around for a child. Then, she realized that it was her. "I'm not a child, you know," she whined irritably.   
  
"You are in my eyes." The woman raised one dark eyebrow in a delicate arch, daring Jen to defy her. "What is your name, child?" She asked, stressing 'child'.   
  
"Jen." Jen looked at the ground sullenly. She noted that it too was made of the same fine white stone as the rest of the chamber. "What's yours?" Jen asked, her dark eyes flashing rebelliously.   
  
"I," the lady gestured imperiously, "I am Leryn, adopted daughter of the Dreamer."   
  
Jen raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Whatever. All I know is that I'm supposed to be training for…something, don't know what…as a dream Priestess or whatever, on Gainel's orders."   
  
Leryn looked offended. "I do not believe you. I would have been informed of this if you were true. Most likely," she sneered, "You're just some brat running around the streets who thinks that she can find food here."   
  
"Nope!" Jen smiled cheerfully. "Before I was introduced to Gainel, I was at school. Well, actually, it was the end of school, but that's beside the point!" She smiled again, and was happy to see the fury that tinged Leryn's face red.   
  
"You? You were introduced to Gainel?" Leryn snapped haughtily.  
  
"Well, yeah. Isn't everyone?" Jen looked up at the affronted woman with her eyes widened as innocently as possible.   
  
"No." Leryn clenched her teeth together and clenched her fists until the knuckles were white. "Sit down."   
  
Jen smiled. "Oh, alright then." She plopped down on the small pillow that Leryn deigned to kick over to her.   
  
"Clear your mind." Leryn closed her eyes and breathed steadily, calming herself slowly. She ran her long, pale fingers through her hair and sighed.   
  
Jen closed her eyes and did the same.   
  
"Now, reach out with your mind and call to Gainel." Jen struggled, not sure how to do that. "Call out to Gainel, child." Leryn breathed.   
  
Jen scrunched up her nose and thought, -Gainel, um, I'm calling you. -  
  
-Yes, Jennifer? - An image of Gainel shone crystal clear in her mind.   
  
-Um, Leryn told me to call you, and um, so I did…- Jen rolled her eyes.  
  
"You have contact established. Now tell him what dream you wish to send to which person." Leryn commanded her imperiously.   
  
-Yeah, so, um, what does she mean by send a dream to someone? - Jen swept her bangs out of her face, where they had been tickling her nose.   
  
-Ah, dream sending. You can send messages to anyone you will, except for other god-born or -chosen, through dreams. At first, before you truly come into your power, you must tell me first, and I will send the dream. However, you must have the dream fully constructed in your mind first. Only after you do so can I send the dream. - Gainel reached out and ethereal hand and touched her cheek. -You, my chosen, will one day be more powerful than eve proud Leryn. Go, and use it wisely. - Suddenly, Gainel vanished and she reeled back.   
  
"Breathe in, and think of the dream you wish to send," Leryn instructed. Jen shivered and stood, turning toward the door. She frowned at Leryn, and left.   
  
A/N: Augh. I hate it when i don't update like this. I'm very sorry to all oyu people too, but i had some major writer's block, and i was obsessing over the fact that i joined elfwood. Unfortunatly (for me) i can't post anything there until they finish doing...something. Don't quite know what.   
  
Fairly certain, however, that whenever they doing finish doing whatever it is, updates will happen more often. Or maybe, they'll happen more often because it's my chapter nect! ::squeaks with happyhappyjoyjoyness:: smiles to all!   
  
Rhian Merenwen 


	8. Books are good Kindling

Thank you to:   
  
Treanz-alyce- Thanks!:o)  
  
On to the Story!   
  
The Plaque of Many Colors  
  
Whatever Chapter It Is: Books are Good Kindling  
  
Sara grimaced as she looked at King Maggur. She knew about him. The King of the Scanrans was one of the most evil and feared characters in all the Tortall books. He appeared much better in person.   
  
Maggur was dressed in a clean suit of dark blue, a color that offset his fair hair and blue eyes well. "So, Sara," He said, leaning on the table before him. "You're trying to tell me that the Tortallan Goddess sent you to me? And you're supposed to help protect my homeland?" Maggur raised a doubtful eyebrow.   
  
"Um, yes, actually." Sara giggled nervously and wrapped her fingers tightly around the strap of her bag. "Funny thing is, she didn't tell me anymore than that." She smiled hesitantly.   
  
"You know, Sara," Maggur stopped and smiled, "You have such an odd name. Anyway, you look nothing like a Scanran. Why should I, or for that matter, the Tortallan Prime Minister, believe that you are on our side?" He brushed back a strand of his hair and tucked it behind an ear.   
  
"Because the Goddess sent me…" Sara trailed off as Maggur looked at her. Really glowered at her.   
  
"Do you think that that excuse will work every time, girl?" He sat back into a rough-hewn chair.   
  
"I guess not, at least, not now." She rolled her eyes. One hand untangled itself from the strap and twirled a piece of brown hair around one finger instead.   
  
"Good. Find some other reason. Maybe then I'll believe you. Come back when you do." Maggur smiled pleasantly and waved a hand to dismiss her. A gentle glow stopped his hand mid-air.   
  
"Maggur," the voice of the Goddess filled the cool air. "Would you really dismiss her so lightly?"   
  
"My Goddess," Maggur lowered his hand a nodded reverentially. "Why shouldn't I dismiss her?" He countered.   
  
"Ah, Maggur, she is a chosen one of mine. Never dismiss a chosen of the Goddess without good reason."   
  
"I have a good reason," Maggur protested. "I had no reason to trust her other than her word. She doesn't even look like a respectable Scanran!"   
  
"She has skills, she will be able to secure the peace that you so desperately want, Maggur. Her way with words is…astounding at times. I have watched her, and she is a natural peacemaker. Place your hope in her, King Maggur." The Goddess appeared before them in all her glory, and she smiled when she added King in front of Maggur's name.   
  
"Really?" Maggur mused thoughtfully. "I think," he stated, turning to Sara, "That you have found yourself a reason." He smiled and stood. "I am Lord Maggur, soon to be King of all of Scanra." Then he bowed politely.   
  
Sara approximated a curtsey, although it was hard, considering the fact that she had jeans on. "And I am Sara of America, soon to be your delegate, I guess."   
  
The Goddess smiled, "Well, you two seem to be off to a lovely start! Good luck, Sara." She faded out, leaving behind the scent of fresh fruit.   
  
"First off," Maggur cast a critical eye over Sara, "You really must be outfitted properly. That- thing you're wearing on top couldn't even pass for an undergarment, let alone clothing. Also, no respectable Scanran woman," Maggur chuckled, "If there is one, according to the Tortallan bastards, would be wearing pants."   
  
"Um, right then. What am I going to do about it?" Sara pulled out a book and flipped open to her bookmark.   
  
"You," Maggur strode over to her, "Are going to come with me." He snapped the book shut and tossed it into his fireplace.   
  
"Hey!" Sara scrambled for her precious book, but Maggur held her back. "That wasn't mine! That was the school's!"   
  
"You go to…school?" Maggur asked as he dragged her away from the fire.   
  
"Yes. That book was my homework. Augh! Now I'm going to have to pay for it!" Sara glared at him. "Thanks a lot."   
  
He smiled briefly. "Sure thing." He glanced askance at her. She was walking along beside him, staring straight ahead angrily. "What book was it?" He asked curiously.   
  
"Great Expectations, written by Charles Dickens. Supposedly one of the greatest novels of all time." She snorted derisively after she said the last bit.   
  
"You don't think it was?" He questioned.   
  
"Not by any means. I mean, I know the EBET -er, my English teacher, would consider what I just said treasonous, but she can't hear me, so screw that. Didn't you have to read it in school?" Sara peered over at him.   
  
"Well, no, you see, I've never heard of this novel-thing or Charles Dickens." Maggur laughed when her mouth fell open.   
  
"That is so not fair," she fumed.   
  
"Neither is life," Maggur shot back. As the hallway he wanted come up, he jerked Sara by her wrist down it.   
  
"Damn, that hurt!" She complained, annoyed at being so light as to be easily dragged around.   
  
Maggur only smiled and tossed her into the seamstress's little room. He felt a quick flash of gladness when she didn't land on the stone floor, but on the piles of fabric.   
  
"Stupid arrogant bastard," Sara grouched as she looked up into the angry face of the seamstress.   
  
"You be messing up my cloth." The woman's pale eyes flashed angrily.   
  
"And I'm terribly sorry about that, but Lord Maggur tossed me in here." Sara gestured at Maggur, who was standing laughing in the doorframe.   
  
"I'm very sorry, Svetlana, for messing up your fabrics," Maggur apologized hastily, and then fled under Svetlana's dour glower.  
  
"You, girl, what is it that you be needing?" Svetlana turned back to Sara.   
  
"Clothing."  
  
"You be wearing some," Svetlana pointed out flatly.   
  
"What I meant was, would you be so kind as to make me an outfit that is fitting to the area, climate and culture that will all be paid for by the Lord Maggur himself, please?" Sara smiled in what she hoped was a friendly manner.   
  
"That's better. Children today, got no manners," the large woman muttered to herself. Sara sat on the chair that was indicated by one dark look from the Scanran woman's eyes, hardly daring to move or breathe.   
  
Sara strolled down the hall toward Maggur's audience chamber. She felt odd in her new apparel. The dark green skirt and brown kirtle were unfamiliar and uncomfortable for someone who was used to wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt. The boots, too, were strange. Soft and supple, they were made from soft brown leather that felt more like a slipper than anything else.   
  
"Sara," Maggur greeted her calmly. "You look much improved."   
  
She rolled her eyes. "Thank you." She looked down at her feet, "Do you people have big feet? We had a really hard time finding shoes that actually fit me."   
  
"No, I believe you have small feet," Maggur said with a scolding tone in his voice.   
  
Sara, chastened, studied her feet more intensely.   
  
"Do you have any talents, abilities or other sorts of special powers that might be handy?" He asked suddenly.   
  
"Uh…" A blank look filled her face.   
  
"Can you do anything other than read and be impudent and irreverent?" Maggur strolled over to her, a questioning look on his face.   
  
"Well, I can draw…sort of. I have a way with words, as the Goddess told you, and I can sort of sing, but only sort of." Sara smiled brightly and used her most innocent voice, "Is that good enough for you?"   
  
He sighed. He almost could not believe her naïveté. "Can you do anything practical, besides the word thing?" He shook his head, "Can you ride a horse, use a knife, hide, or speak another language?"   
  
"Well, I can ride a horse, and I'm fairly decent too…um, I can use a knife for cutting food, but that's not what you meant, is it? I was learning German, but that was before I got whisked here, and I'm not very fluent in it at that…" She trailed off and went back to observing her feet.   
  
"German?"   
  
"Yeah, um, it's another language in my homeland-thing-sort-of." She looked up and shrugged. "Unfortunately, I don't know much more than how to say things pertaining to introductions and food."   
  
Maggur chuckle dryly. "I've never heard of that language, but at least you know how to ride a horse. Oh, another thing, can you protect yourself?"   
  
"How so?"   
  
"With a weapon, or with your hands, or some other method," Maggur elaborated.   
  
"I can ride a horse," Sara offered meekly. "Does that count?"   
  
"Great. Just great. You can run away- but only if you can get to the stables in time. Can you hide?" He threw a cursory glance at her; she was small, but would it help her at all?  
  
"I like playing hide-and-seek. I can fit into a lot of small places and not move for a while, but that's about it. I don't have a Gift or anything, just me." Sara shrugged and sighed helplessly.   
  
"Well," Maggur smiled cheerfully. "We'll have to train you in these things!" He watched her blanch with a particular relish that came with instilling fear into someone. The paler she got, the wider his smile got.   
  
"Damn." She finally managed to croak out.   
  
A/N: hehe...i wonder why this chapter got written so quickly? Does Sara seem in danger of turning into a Mary-Sue? I hope not...:o)   
  
Next up...um. Someone else. Not sure who yet. Any suggestions? Anyone?   
  
Well, you know how to tell me...  
  
Rhian Merenwen 


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